Nevermore

She let the quiet fizz of no response go until it reached the point of making her uncomfortable. “If it was you,” she said, breaking the silence, “then I don’t think it was funny, but I think you should just tell me.” There. She’d said it. It was better to make sure that it hadn’t been him first before she started spouting off about invisible pursuers, right?

She found herself waiting through another long stretch of silent phone-buzz before, finally, she heard him draw a breath to speak. “I don’t know what kind of acid you dropped between six thirty and now,” he said, “but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“The park,” she said, though with less oomph. She was starting to think that maybe there had been a better way to go about this. She hadn’t been trying to say it had been him. She was only trying to figure out if it had.

“What about the park?” he said, impatient.

“Someone chased me,” she blurted.

“And you think it was me.”

Uh-oh. Isobel folded her free arm across her chest, linking it with her other at the elbow. Head down, she began to pace again. “I didn’t say that.”

“You insinuated it.”

Isobel cringed, hating to hear her own words turned around on her.

“I—”

“First of all,” he said without giving her a chance to finish, “if you were in the park by yourself tonight, you should realize that was stupid.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Consider yourself welcome. Secondly,” he continued, “you really must be on something to assume that I would follow you, let alone chase you. I’m sorry, but my existence isn’t that sad.”

Ouch.

“Okay, listen. I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to accuse you. That wasn’t why I called.”

“But you did accuse me.” His tone dissolved into a patronizing drone. “And why else would you call? Certainly not to chat, I hope.”

Well, this had all gone straight to hell in a fat, flaming rocket.

“You know,” he said, plowing on, sounding more venomous by the second, “despite what everyone has always told you, the world does not revolve around you.”

“Look,” she growled, “I said I was sorry! You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

“I’m only telling you what nobody else will.”

“Yeah?” she said, her voice rising. If he wanted to pull out the artillery, that was just fine with her, she had her own guns. Bring it. “Why don’t you speak for yourself?” she hissed. “I mean, what screams ‘cry for attention’ more than walking around looking like the grim reaper and scribbling creepy, tortured messages into some book?”

“Please,” she heard him scoff through a thin scratch of phone fuzz—he was probably using a cordless handset, she realized, and it made her wonder if he even owned a cell. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, of all people. Aside from the fact that you wouldn’t get it, you—”

“Hey,” she cut in. She’d had enough of his more-competent-than-thou condescending crap. If anyone went around thinking themselves superior, it was him. “Just because I live in the sunlight, enjoy being blond, and wear a cheerleading uniform, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’m so sick of that.”

“Just because I wear black and keep a private journal, that doesn’t mean I’m going to blow up the school. Or terrorize mindless cheerleaders, for that matter.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Like you care.”

“What if I do?”

Isobel immediately covered her mouth with one hand; she could feel her cheeks growing hot beneath her palm. Where had that come from?

“You don’t,” he assured her. “You care about your fluffy pink ego.”

“That’s not true,” she said, walking to plop back down on the corner of her bed, frowning at the hem of her fluffy pink robe. She shut her eyes and ground her fingers into her forehead.

When had this gone all screwy? Hadn’t they been fine in the attic? What about the ice cream shop? Didn’t that count for something? “I didn’t know how else to tell you, is all.”

“Tell me what?”

“About the park.” She sighed, raking a hand through her damp hair. “Just—never mind. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t really think it was you. I just didn’t want you to think I was crazy or something.”